The Corolla Campaign

My wife and I decided that we needed a new commuter car, now that a gallon of gasoline costs about as much as a triple venti low fat latte with extra foam.  Problem is that one cannot just go into the dealership and expect to get charged the same price for the same product by the same tattooed seller, as happens at every Morebucks. Instead, there is the de rigeur stereotype of car salesmen as slippery, ethically-challenged mountebanks ready to sell you a molehill as the Taj Mahal.  No, wait, those are real estate brokers.  My mistake. But you know what I mean.

Going into a car dealership requires the planning of a military strike.  The enemy—just kidding, make that the dealer—has a tactical asset that you need to acquire as part of your bigger strategy of avoiding “insolvency through commuting.”  But he won’t give up that asset without making you pay dearly.  He has arrayed his fanatical mercenaries against you.  There is the initial trooper guarding the entry doors whose eyes quickly size up your potential fighting ability. This warrior begins to soften you up with a barrage of questions to pin you down and limit your maneuverability in securing the asset.  Through various feints, he then attempts to divert you from your goal to a different asset that he is willing to surrender, but which is of less use to you or at least will cause you to expend more resources.

Should you exhaust the fighting ability of this soldier, he will quickly be reinforced by the more experienced professional “closer.”  This battle-scarred fighter has been trained to anticipate and counteract all your maneuvers to capture the asset on your terms.  As you skirmish in face-to-face combat, he will use his years of experience to turn the force of your own probes and movements about price, trade-in value, and financing against you like the car-a-te master that he is.

Then, to distract you during a lull in the struggle there is the Mata Hari from customer service who, wearing high heels and a tight blouse and skirt, offers you water with an expression of faux concern.  She has noticed the perspiration stains under your armpits as much as you have. You must resist her blandishments and not betray your battle fatigue further.

Finally, there is the suave but fiendishly brilliant finance advisor with his arsenal of multiple state-of-the-art warranty and insurance offers.  Each of these is a brutally efficient weapon designed to make you bleed your limited resources even after you have captured the asset.

Knowing the odds that you face, you must prepare.  Without relentless preparation, your mission will be like the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava, especially if you go in there wearing a cardigan (little historical humor).  After all, the dealer has the car and determines under what terms he will part with it. The key here is information.

There are valuable sources of information.  First, there is the high-tech approach.  I searched the internet, looking at the Kelley Blue Book website, the websites of Toyota, Ford, Nissan, Chevrolet, and Honda, and a website with listings of late-model used cars available within 30 miles of my house.  I tentatively decided on a Porsche 911 Carrera as the most suitable asset. Just joking.  Acquiring that car would require me to sacrifice several offspring, and, after long deliberation, I decided that I wasn’t willing to pay that price—yet. I settled on the Corolla.

I then talked to an acquaintance who works car auctions.  He is normally an auxiliary of the enemy and works in close coordination with them.  He has a keen knowledge of the locations of potential assets. Would he be able to use his connections to scout out a vulnerable target or perhaps even be able to produce a mutually-agreeable peaceable surrender of such an asset?  After talking to his own sources, he had bad news.  Though he was willing to switch sides and work against his usual allies, the limited number of low-mileage, late-model assets caused the dealers to protect them ferociously.  Acquiring such an asset would still require a large commitment of funds.  My agent decided that he would not be much help and recommended that I strike out on my own to acquire a new model Corolla.  Paradoxically, if I were careful and prepared enough, I might be able to acquire such an asset for little more than what would be needed for a late-model used asset.

I was skeptical and assumed that he just could not break his loyalty to the enemy, not even for cash. Nevertheless, I decided to test his assertion. This time, I went low-tech.  The most low-tech source of information I know is The Los Angeles Times.  It turned out that many of the dealers were advertising new 2009 Corollas at prices comparable to what I had run across for late-model, low-mileage used Corollas. The enemy was flaunting the ease with which such an asset could be acquired.  They were taunting me to come in and try to capture one.  Indeed, each tried to get me to do a headlong frontal dash to his redoubt with the challenge “Only 1 [or 2, 3, or 4] available at this price.”

All successful military campaigns require boots on the ground. Internet searches and telephone calls would not be enough. So I collected these notices from several of the enemy and set out Sunday morning.  The first stop was DCH Toyota in Simi Valley, which had proclaimed it had 3 assets at that price.  As I feared, the notice was a clever ruse. The trooper guarding the front door informed me that there were no more such assets.  With easy disdain, Kabir repulsed my pitiful efforts and declared that the notice had appeared on Friday.  I was too late.  He tried to lure me to “the back” where there were more such assets.  But, to capture one of them I would have to expend more resources than I had available.  I resisted his attempt to draw me into a field position more favorable to him.  Instead, I undertook a tactical retreat from the theater of operation.

The next location of a suitable asset was Toyota of Northridge, which also claimed to have three of them available.  Ostentatiously brandishing my most powerful weapons, the notices from the various dealers, I opted for a frontal assault on the enemy.  Surreptitiously scouting the displayed assets and waiting for the enemy fighters to approach me made no sense here.  Let’s get this over with quickly, in victory or defeat.  I strode up to the enemy fighter, whose name tag revealed him as “Dan.”

Upon hearing my challenge, Dan checked with his superiors. He informed me that there indeed was one such asset available.  I confidently expected that the asset would be the one with the Dijon mustard-colored exterior and the Highlander tartan-patterned interior. To my surprise it was a nice-looking sea-green one with a beige interior.  OK, it must be one of those that is used as a demo model.  Actually, it had only 1 mile on the odometer.  The enemy’s tactics were disorienting me.  I was making the classic mistake of militaries, namely, fighting this war by the last war’s methods.

After the necessary test drive found the model to be eminently suited to my needs, the struggle moved to the room where the expected face-to-face combat would arise. Sure enough, the closer arrived. But all he did was take information for down payment (he wanted 20%) and financing (he offered 7% and 4 years).  I wanted 0% down and 6% for 5 years. OK, the struggle was on—for about 5 minutes while a credit check was done. I got the terms I wanted, except for the interest rate. He assured me I could prepay if I got a better rate somewhere else. While I think that I probably could have got 6% at my credit union, the difference of $7 per month was not worth my time.

I was going through the enemy ranks without breaking a sweat.  So when Mata Hari asked the question about the water, I had my guard down enough to agree.  I was so relaxed I didn’t even notice whether her open-cuff white blouse and above-the-knee black pencil skirt were tight, and whether they matched her 3 1/2 inch-heel black stiletto open-toed pumps. Really, I couldn’t tell you.

I knew I had made a mistake because I was soon ushered into the domain of the finance advisor.  This is where the mother of all battles would be fought.  This would be my Salamis, Lepanto, Yorktown, and the Bulge rolled into one. Sure enough, here came the list of add-ons, the warranties, extended and new, the insurance offers, and more.  I turned in full battle-mode and said boldly, “No, thank you.” He replied, “Then please initial here and sign here.”  What? That’s it? No doomsday scenarios about how terrible the car is and how inadequate the manufacturer’s warranty?

It was done, except for the washing and cleaning of the car plus the full tank of gas they provided.  Oh, and the three different “thank yous” from Dan and the closer.  Since then, I have received two phone calls and one letter asking how I liked my asset and whether I was pleased with the manner of acquisition. This is not the enemy I expected. Northridge Toyota must be a particularly devious foe, making the car buying experience, dare I say it, appear enjoyable.  I need to acquire another such asset in the next year or so.  I’ll have to be careful not to fight that war based on my experience in this one.